


Empty Bed Blues

by TellMeNoAgain



Series: Roaring Hot [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Noir, Dark Harley, Dark Tony, Dubious Consent, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, F/M, M/M, Mental Instability, Mob Boss Tony Stark, Mob-Type Violence, Multi, Period Typical Attitudes, Period Typical Language, Polyamory, dark bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:00:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22300726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TellMeNoAgain/pseuds/TellMeNoAgain
Summary: Part 5 of the "Tony Stark is an insane 1920's Mob Boss and there's sex everywhere" fic, which, okay, SOME OF YOU ARE ASKING FOR MORE. I'll write more as long as you ask for it, ya crazy mooks.~~~Peter wakes up in the middle of the night.  Tony and Harley are out painting the town red.  Feelings ensue.
Relationships: BASICALLY EVERYBODY/EVERYBODY - Relationship, Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Harley Keener/Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Harley Keener/Steve Rogers, Harley Keener/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Harley Keener, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker, Natasha Romanov/Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Steve Rogers, Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: Roaring Hot [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1591804
Comments: 90
Kudos: 367





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the amazing mindwiped and jf4m, THANK YOU SO SO SO MUCH. I'm sorry if you now need to clean up your soul. I'll... I'll pay for the cleaning, just get me the receipts.
> 
> If you've read darkfic before, proceed, mine is pretty tame so far (later chapters may get worse).
> 
> If you HAVEN'T read darkfic, let's have a quick chat about the genre. Darkfics are full of dubious consent, even abuse. This one will skirt the edges of that second option. There will be dubiously consentful sex, which you will be able to interpret either direction, your choice. There will be period-appropriate racism, sexism, all kinds of -ism. There will be prostitution and drugs and a bunch of violence, including strong corporal punishment and what looks like domestic abuse to me. It's hard to say, because the victim sure seems fine with it, but it also might be some heavy gaslighting. Because I know underage squicks so many people, Peter will be of age when the sex starts, but that doesn't mean that the characters aren't going to mess with him (and turning 18 is not a magic wand for sexual relationships to be healthy). Darkfic is fun because it's not reality and it can let you have some nervous experiences without actually being endangered. Please proceed with your comfort level. You can email me at tellmenoagainplease@gmail.com if you want to check in about specific triggers.

Peter wakes up with a start. It’s pitch black and so quiet. He can’t hear the steady heavy breathing of Ned, Flash’s snores, CJ’s weird whistle. He can’t hear anything, which is impossible, there’s always noise at the Home. 

His stomach drops as he remembers.

He’s a Stark now. He’s been kidnapped, and then kissed, or maybe kissed and then kidnapped, and Bucky is coming tomorrow to shave him again, Pepper bought him a suit for church. They celebrated his adoption with steak, Peter’s first steak. He’d sat at Mr. Stark’s right hand, the guest of honor seat, usually occupied by Natasha, apparently, who’d given it up with a smile and a laugh. She’d been wearing a shiny short dress, beads everywhere, front side, back side, picking out a bold pattern of slashes and triangles and fringed at the bottom. She had some kind of garter around her head, too, with feathers in it, sparkly in the same triangle pattern picked out in beads. Peter’d never seen anyone looking so sparkly, and her made up face, heavy kohl around her eyes, had been something he’d watched during dinner as he’d eaten, fascinated at the change, wondering why she’d want to do that. 

Mr. Stark had watched too, but his watching hadn’t been simple fascination. Mr. Stark and Natasha had gone rounds that afternoon, according to Harley, and they’d go rounds again that night, Harley had assured him. Harley said Mr. Stark and Natasha were like fire and oil, once they got started, you just had to let them burn, there was no smothering them. Harley said a lot of things, getting ready to go out with them tonight, to go on a tour to one or two of the speakeasies Mr. Stark maintained in New York. “Devilside business,” he’d said with authority. “Nothing you or Pepper’ll ever get to see, so don’t go hoping for it. Gotta keep them wings clean.”

Peter had shaken his head, then, but now, tucked into the bottom bunk, in this silent room, his head spins and he wishes he was with them, wherever they are, whatever they’re doing. Things are so much easier when he’s not alone, in his head. Alone, in his head, he starts thinking things like, _the middle of the night is the perfect time to bolt._ Alone, in his head, he starts thinking, _I don’t want any of this_. He thinks, _I miss MJ._ He thinks, _I miss Ned_. 

Harley had made it pretty clear he wouldn’t have contact with the Home, had made it pretty clear that Peter’s previous connections weren’t going to drag him back down. But lying there, on satin sheets, his feet bound up again by Harley- before he ran after Mr. Stark- because of a few _blisters._ Peter worries that MJ and Ned didn’t remember about the sock. Worries that they’re worried about him. If they’re really smart, they’ll see the society pages, they’ll see he’s been adopted. They’ll see he’s a Stark now.

Harley had kissed him before he left, in front of Mr. Stark, had ripped down his pants to show Mr. Stark Bucky’s work right before they left, and kissed him. When Harley’d first pulled them down, Mr. Stark had skimmed his fingers over the shaved area, eyes turning dark. He’d been wearing a fancy suit, spats, even, carrying his fedora, but he’d put the fedora on the bed beside Peter, beside where Harley had pushed Peter once he had the pants down. He’d reached down one hand, and trailed it while Harley talked on and on about how he loved it, loved looking at it, loved touching it, and please, Tony, could he hurry up so Harley could have some fun with it? Mr. Stark had mostly seemed to ignore Harley’s jawing, watching his fingers trace over Peter’s smooth skin with dark eyes. Peter had hardly been able to breathe, watching those eyes get darker and darker, that busy face go still with _concentration_. He’d twitched, felt himself twitch, with those gentle touches, and Mr. Stark had quirked a smile, shooting a glance at Peter’s face that had him gasping for air, a bit.

“Looks good, kid,” he’d said, his hand _touching._ “Feels nice, too. Go ahead, Harley, say goodbye to the Angel. Much as you want, I’m watching.”

And then Harley had attacked Peter with kissing. Now, in the dark, his lips still feel raw and bruised. Harley’s hands had been everywhere, in Peter’s hair, trailing down his neck, touching his sides, touching up under his shirt, clutching at his back, eager. But they hadn’t been near his crotch, because Mr. Stark’s hand had still been there, still stroking, making Peter twitch and gasp with how gentle his fingers felt, how teasing, how light.

When Mr. Stark had cleared his throat, Harley had jumped back, leaving Peter panting. “Damn, Tony,” he’d said, rubbing his mouth. “Damn. Hurry up, I got so many ideas, Boss.”

Mr. Stark had laughed and said, “Give it a kiss goodbye, real gentle, I‘d like to see that, Hellcat.”

And Harley had smirked, and bent at the waist, and _kissed_ Peter, kissed his- kissed _him_. “He likes hands in his hair,” Mr. Stark had murmured to Peter, and slid a hand in Harley’s hair, “like this. Not too much, Hellcat, don’t want him dirtied,” he’d ordered. “Look at the two of you. You like that, Angel?” Hellcat hadn’t, it was just a gentle kiss, it wasn’t, wasn’t like in the car with Steve, his head bobbing, the wet noises. Peter had looked up at Mr. Stark, feeling his mouth slack, and not known what to say. 

“ _He_ likes it,” Mr. Stark had told Peter seriously. “Hellcat’s mouth was made for sucking a man down, loves to do it. He hasn’t shut up about all the things he wants to do to you, but taking you with his mouth is the one he mentions most. I’ve half a mind to let him have at, just to shut him up. Fill his mouth up with that sweet little Johnson you got tucked between them legs, stop them words for a half-hour or so, buy myself some quiet.” Peter had trembled then, Harley’s lips curving into a smile, he could feel them, could feel the way the shape of them changed, on the tip of his dick. “But it’s early days yet,” Mr. Stark had conceded, brushing hair off of Peter’s forehead with another gentle hand. “Maybe later. Up, Hellcat, you kissed your goodbye.” 

Harley had stood immediately, smiling at Peter, like what had just happened had been fun and funny. “Oh, Lord,” he’d chuckled, catching Peter’s stunned expression. “Baby, you gotta get you an _education_ , you think _that’s_ something.”

“His education’ll go about as fast as your times tables are going,” Mr. Stark had laughed. “All kinds of education in this wide world, he just ain’t a savant at vice, like you, Cat. Which is just as it should be. Such an angel, baby, so good for me,” he’d praised Peter, hand cupping Peter’s chin, running his thumb along Peter’s lips.

Everybody’s always praising Peter on being quiet, on being good, but he’s alone now, on this bunk, and it’s quiet all around him, until he hears the first few sounds of his own breathing stumble into sobs. Peter used to know what was up and what was down, what was good and what was bad, but now everyone’s praising him for being _good_ for stuff that he’s pretty sure is _bad_ . It’s bad, he knows, Slim Jim got beat to death, for twitching for another man. For letting another man kiss you. For shutting up Steve’s lips by climbing on top of Bucky, being nice to Bucky to be nice to Steve. But everyone in this crazy house says that’s being _good_.

And it ain’t like he can stop them, neither. They can touch him all they want, he thinks, tears choking his breathing right off. He can’t stop them, they got guns, and tempers. Bucky and Steve killed a snitch’s whole family and Peter believes it, believes they took out a wife and kids along with a snitch, because he _reads the paper_ , he _shouts the news_ , he knows exactly what kinda crime scenes the mob leaves behind, no trace. And now he’s been shaved by two of the killers, had a razor run down his skin by two of the men who kill families at the dinner table and leave kids orphans or… or worse. Peter can’t stop the tears, thinking of how he can’t stop them, can’t stop them from killing anybody on the Devilside of the Empire, can’t stop them from touching him any time they want.

And his body, his own- he shifts to his stomach, grabs the pillow tight. His own body wants those touches. Wants them, likes them, even with all he knows, even with how scared he gets, it still, he twitches for them, he loses his head in the kisses, in the touches. He lays down on cold tile floors and sinks back into couches and twitches under all the touches he doesn’t want while they laugh. Peter puts his head into the pillow and gasps a deep breath, tears running hot, as hot as the shame he’s feeling now. He wants his old life back, his easy life where he mighta messed up some, but he never even needed a paddling, not once, only the one time had to be locked in the dark basement overnight, jumping out of his own skin at the rats and the other noises. He was a _good kid_ , the matron used to say that to him, outta all the kids, he was so _easy_ to keep around. He’s fighting back sobs, and then he loses the fight, gives up. There’s no one around, anyway. He’s all alone.

He should know better, in this house where someone’s always up. He’s half gone with crying, when the curtains twitch back. He didn’t hear the door open, but there’s Steve, sliding onto the bed, running hands down Peter’s back, whispering, “Shhh, Angel, shhh.” Peter shakes his head, hunching away from the other man. He doesn’t want to be good right now. He doesn’t want to be _good_ and _quiet_. He wants to be _left alone_. But like always, the touching doesn’t stop just because Peter wants it to. Steve slides his hand up and down Peter’s back, murmuring nonsense about breathing and how it’s going to be okay, Peter’s safe. 

Peter knows better. He’s never been so unsafe in his life, he’s never, it’s not okay, none of this is okay, and _he signed his name_.

“Steve?” asks a quiet voice from the near corner of the room, and Peter stiffens, because it’s Pepper, he woke _Pepper._ “Tony must have left the door cracked, I- I heard, oh, Peter,” she says, and then there’s two sets of hands on his back, rubbing, and now Pepper’s seen him crying and Steve’s going to call them crocodile tears, tell her they’re not real tears, and the shame makes him cry even harder, biting the pillow to try to muffle it.

“Big day,” she says, her voice so sympathetic he gasps. “Big day, and I bet you don’t know what’s up or down right now.”

Peter gasps, again, and Steve says, “Poor kid, lookin’ at it from his point of view, has to be like he came from one world and jumped in over his head in a whole ‘nother one.”

“I remember that,” says Pepper wryly. “Don’t you, Steve?”

“Some,” admits Steve. Peter is breathing easier, hearing their voices is making it easier to breathe, somehow, in the night, he’s still crying, but at least he can breathe. “It’s easier for me, I been to war, learned a whole lot about living in worlds that don’t make any sense, worlds you maybe wouldn’t choose for yourself.”

“Ahh, that one. Yes,” says Pepper, voice rich with layers of understanding.

“Say, just how bad was your marriage to Lord Potts, you think you understand about trench warfare, Lady Potts?” asks Steve softly.

“Oh, it was trench warfare,” she confirms quietly, voice aching, and Peter gasps to hear the depth of the sadness in it. “Just, the trenches were in my mind and soul. And body.”

“I oughta go over there,” growls Steve, his voice full of menace, and Peter’s whole body flinches. Their hands fly together across his back, his hair, soothing, everywhere at once, as Pepper replies, “No need. I’m half sure Tony took care of it, but Lord Potts, he’s- he had an accident, in an alley, on one of his contemptible _binges_. No one, no one came forward as the cutpurse, but they left his pocketwatch, Steve.”

Peter twists, trying to get away from this image, and Pepper shushes him. “Sorry, love,” she says. “I’ll never know,” she says to Steve. “I’ll never ask. That’s not the kind of gratitude I want to feel, want to give to him. It’s a dark thing, inside me, and Tony doesn’t want me for dark. He doesn’t want you for dark, either,” she says, and Peter think she’s talking to Steve until she tucks his hair behind his ear and leans over to look at his face, which he hides, and repeats herself, “He doesn’t want you for dark, either, Peter.”

“They been batting- _we_ been batting- him around like a mouse all week,” admits Steve, a little shame coating his voice. 

“I know it,” she says, annoyed. Peter flinches. “No, no, there, shh,” she hushes him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re so good, Peter. You lighten up this whole house, Tony went for ice cream on a Saturday morning, do you have any idea how rare that is? Harley played baseball in the Great Hall. It’s everything, just having you here, oh, I don’t have the right words. You’re doing so good, Peter. You _are_ so good. You help us all to be better, just by being here.” 

Peter thinks of all the things Harley says he wants to do to Peter and gasps, fresh tears springing to his eyes. “‘M not good, I don’t, Harley wants to- Bucky did-”

“That’s in _their_ nature, not yours,” says Steve sharply. “They can’t help wanting the wrong things, can’t help trying for them. Doesn’t change that you’re being good, you’ll see.”

“I’m so scared,” confesses Peter on a sob. “I just, I just want to go _back_.”

Pepper gathers him up, puts his head on her lap, while Steve leans over his hips, one hand on either side of Peter’s body at the waist. “I bet,” she murmurs. “I remember feeling scared, too, at first. You’ll see, you’re the safest you’ve ever been, and the most free. I think it’s the free part that’s the scariest part of this family. We own the whole world, both sides of it, and no one can tell us what to do or not do, and that’s, that’s-”

“Terrifying,” finishes Steve, nodding his head when Peter looks up. “Plus, the Devilside isn’t exactly easy as they come. They’re plumb crazy.”

Pepper nods. “Half of being an angel, I think, is pretending they’re not scary. Helping them to _be_ not scary, to be gentle and good, by not seeing how scary they are.”

Steve hums agreement and then says, “What’s this about wanting to go back?”

Peter rubs his face on Pepper’s nightgown, feeling awful, another round of tears welling up. “I don’t, I like it here, sometimes,” he says miserably. He doesn’t want to hurt their feelings, just because he’s feeling cruddy. “It’s, ice cream and steak, and the library, and, and I don’t hate anybody, I like people, I do. When they’re not messing with me,” he says fiercely.

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, hard to like a fella when he’s messing with you.” Pepper murmurs agreement with her own chuckle.

“You want to go back?” asks Steve gently.

Peter shakes his head. “N-no, not, not really, but-” his honesty prods him, his voice chokes, because what must they be thinking of him, to say this, here, on these silk sheets, wearing Harley’s pajamas, his feet in fresh bandages, “-some? Everything was so easy, I mean, it was hard, and I was scared all the time, scared of messing up, of getting kicked out, I didn’t know, I didn’t know what I was going to do after my birthday-”

Steve nods. “Yeah, that’s how I ended up in the army. Got to my birthday with nothing but the clothes on my back and money for a pan to cook in and didn’t know what to do next. Bucky’d already left for the front, and I guess I just figured I was good enough to follow him out there. Been following him ever since.”

Pepper sighs. “And I was so excited, to be offered a ladyship so soon after my debutante ball. I know it seems silly-” and both men shake their heads adamantly, _no_ , there’s nothing _silly_ about Pepper Stark “-but a woman’s life still isn’t her own, for all some of us are wearing bloomers. We make that decision so young, to pick who will be the rudder of our ship, who will hold our financial well-being in their hands, who will have control over our bodies. So _young_.”

Steve reaches out a hand and squeezes her shoulder, and Peter rubs his cheek into her lap. He never thought about it from MJ’s point of view, he realizes. He knew, he knew it wasn’t movie star romance on his end, just, just comfort, just familiarity. Just knowing her, being able to trust her, trust that she’s always got his back. He never thought, never thought about why she’d pick him for her plans, for her future.

“So being offered the whole world on a platter,” she continues, “a decade or so later, that’s head-spinning, that knocks you right over. I can imagine it’s worse when you haven’t even had that birthday, when it’s Harley doing the offering.” Steve and her share a fond smile.

Peter frowns, “He didn’t offer, though. He just, he just, it was a _kidnapping_.”

“It was, technically,” says Steve slowly. “And that makes it easier, in some ways, I bet. Makes it easier to see where one world ends and the other begins, with that interview in the office.”

“With the kiss,” corrects Peter, and then ducks his head, because maybe Pepper didn’t _know_. Maybe that’s part of her being Angelside, maybe she’s not supposed to _know_ about the vice stuff Harley and Steve and Bucky and Mr. Stark get up to.

Pepper relieves him by laughing, “Yeah, mine began with a kiss, too. Outside, under the stars on the balcony at a party of my husband’s business associates, one he couldn’t wiggle out of, a small gathering. I remember the look on Tony’s face when I walked in on Lord Pott’s arm, he looked like he’d been slapped, and then he’d danced with me, after dinner, when Lord Potts retired for a brandy and a cigar. He barely said two words the whole time, just looked at me, watched me.” She smiles wryly, shaking her head.

“Well, heck,” swears Steve, “I got gypped. All I got was a contract.”

Peter laughs. He’s shocked by the sound of it, by the sound of his own laughter after all the tears, but he laughs.

“That’s a good sound,” sighs Steve, rubbing Peter’s back. “Well, you can count forward from that kiss, I won’t mind, real ego boost,” he tells Peter, open and honest, so maybe Pepper does know what all goes on in these rooms.

“It gets better,” says Pepper decisively. “I’m here now, and that will help some, you’ll have lessons and you can help me run my side of the Empire, that will help keep you busy.”

Peter nods, he’s already seen that it’s better with her here, with Mr. Stark here. There’s just less time in the day, everyone is moving around so fast.

“And I know you can’t tell any of them no, you’re not built to tell _anyone_ no,” Steve says, teasing, “And for a couple of them devils, ‘no’ ain’t a smart thing to say, anyway. But you could try asking them to go slow, to slow up some. Mr. Stark wants that, I bet he’d hear it, if you get too caught up. And I know Bucky would slow, and even Harley would know that’s what Mr. Stark wants and hear it, too. Clint and Natasha been messing with you yet?”

Peter shakes his head, and shivers, clutching tighter to Pepper for a brief moment of reassurance.

“Don’t think they will ‘til you’re more settled. They don’t much like the cat and mouse games,” Steve says seriously. “They’re much more Harley’s speed, Mr. Stark’s speed.” Pepper nods confirmation of this. “They’ll absolutely leave off, you need things slowed down,” Steve says.

“And if you want someone who won’t mess with you at all,” says Pepper lightly, “you can find Happy and I. Happy can barely bring himself to approach me,” she laughs. “And even that’s only once in a blue moon.”

“Everyone’s built different,” agrees Steve. He smiles over at Pepper, “If I was yours, well, let’s just say Mr. Stark made the right call for chief security on that one.”

“Oh, I know,” laughs Pepper easily, her eyes crinkling back at Steve. “I don’t think he could have picked better than Happy, for that jealous streak of his.”

“He doesn’t seem jealous,” mutters Peter. “Seems like he sure likes _sharing_.”

They chuckle, and rub his back. “Some,” admits Steve, “he’s a complex man.”

“Say that again, brother,” quips Pepper, with a wide smile. “If no one has told you yet, Peter, he’s not _well_ , mentally. I can’t decide if it’s his genius or his father, or what, but he’s definitely complex. I find it fascinating, but then, I don’t have to deal with the Devilside. That’s all Natasha, although she does seem to enjoy it,” she adds doubtfully.

“And Bucky. I’m glad for Bucky,” sighs Steve. “And Clint, Harley, the whole lot of ‘em. Peter, we don’t have to deal with any of it, you’ll see, all the worst of the business happens far from us. And you’ll get your feet, learn where you have the power to make ‘em behave themselves, too. Hellcat and Mr. Stark gave up taking the Lord’s name in vain for this woman, and she didn’t have to be hard about it for it to happen.”

“ _Captain_ , you _hypocrite_ , telling him he can stay far away, you wade right in,” laughs Pepper. There’s something about the warm way she says Captain that makes Peter feel warm, too, like he’s in the center of a glow they’re sharing between them.

“Sometimes,” Steve admits easily. “But sometimes not. That’s part of being on this side,” he tells Peter. “Knowing when to duck out and keep your feathers clean. I’ll help, heck, they’ll help, they don’t want you getting dirty that way, they like that they can scrub up and come rub elbows with us clean angels. Our job is to let ‘em, to help ‘em feel normal, feel good, you’ll see.”

Peter’s head is spinning again. He closes his eyes. 

“It’s a lot, a lifetime of Tony building a family and a life he could be proud of, an Empire that gives him safety and security and the ability to provide the same to his people,” says Pepper sympathetically. “You don’t have to get it right, right away, son. Just don’t leave us, that’s all I ask. If it gets too bad, just come to me. Don’t leave us.”

Peter stills. That’s the heart of it, he thinks. The heart of all this sad, all this _missing_ , all the tears. “I can’t go back, I decided,” says Peter miserably. “I won’t, I won’t _fit_ , when- with all the stuff, I won’t _fit_ anymore. I had _ice cream_. I been _kissed_.”

“Yeah,” agrees Steve, his voice deep with regretful understanding. “That’s about the shape of it.”

“Oh, I know that one, too,” sighs Pepper, resting a hand on Peter’s head. “I’m completely ruined for anything but Tony and his Empire. What would I do after _this_? Run a hat shop with a boring accountant?” Peter looks up at her and she smiles down at him, eyes twinkling.

“And if you do bolt,” says Steve quietly, “I’ll find you. Every time. If that’s what you need to do, I’ll find you, and I’ll bring you home, Peter Stark.”

Peter gasps, flipping wildly, burying his face in Pepper’s stomach. Her hand wraps around him, one hand combing through his hair. She shushes him. “And I’ll forgive you,” she murmurs. “I’ll forgive you for running from us, for leaving us here behind, if you ever need to. Being kidnapped at the start of your new world is bound to leave some echoes. I won’t hold it against you, as long as you let Steve bring you back to me.”

“Devilside might call you ‘ours’ and mean one thing, but Peter Stark, you are well and truly _ours_ , _Angel_ side, and that means something different, don’t it, kid?” says Steve. Peter can feel tears leaking out as he nods. “Been some time since you had someone was gonna chase you down no matter how fast you ran, huh?”

Peter nods, the tears running faster, Pepper’s arms feeling like walls against the whole world.

“Shh,” she soothes. “It’s a lot, I know. And maybe we should be done talking about it all, let you rest a little, let it settle. That’s all this is, Peter, just nerves, just nerves that need time to get settled, and there’s never enough time in a Stark day. You miss what was. You’re nervous about what is, but it’s going to be okay. I promise, we’ve all been there. It’s scary at the top of the world, but you’re not alone.” She smiles down at him, and so does Steve, he checks. He nods, and Steve reaches over, wipes the tears from his cheeks with careful fingers, tracing the curve of Peter’s cheek and eyes. 

“Okay, you’re done sleeping here alone tonight. Last thing you need is more alone. Probably shouldn’t bunk in with Pepper, so you’re coming to mine. Let me go let Happy know it’s his shift, I’ll come get you in five,” says Steve. Pepper nods agreement to this plan and Peter sighs.

While Steve is gone, Pepper helps Peter sit up, walks him to the bathroom to splash water on his face and drink some water. She checks his bandages quickly, efficiently, and then straightens his bedcovers and presses him to sit back down on them to wait. “I am so lucky,” she says, smiling sweetly, sitting next to him. “I know Harley thinks he got you for Mr. Stark, and around here, everything is for Mr. Stark, but I needed another angel on my team. And I got _the_ Angel, and that makes me so lucky, Peter. I don’t know what all Bucky and Steve told Mr. Stark that had him so anxious to get home to you, but I remember every story they told me. And every single thing they speculated, I’ve found to be true. You’re so good for me, Peter.”

Peter sighs, and lets her wrap her arms around him, rests his chin on her shoulder. They’re still sitting like that when Steve comes back. “All right, Mrs. Stark, I’ve got him, you go on back to bed, too,” says Steve sternly. “No popping down to your salon to check through those contracts one last time.”

“No, Steve,” she agrees meekly. “Right to bed.” There’s a small smile twisting her lips when Peter pulls back to look up at her. “Right to sleep,” she agrees, smiling at Peter, touching his nose with a fingertip.

Steve looks down at Peter and says, “I’m gonna carry you, know you don’t like it, but them feet need _care_.” 

Peter sighs and rolls his eyes. Pepper kisses his forehead and says, “Oh, go on, Peter. Let him fuss a little.” The small smile on her lips is what convinces him to nod. Steve scoops him up immediately, clearly not taking the chance that Peter will protest. Pepper stands to kiss Peter’s cheek again, saying, “Pleasant dreams, son. Steve, you watch Bucky’s hands, when he gets back.”

Steve says, “Yes, ma’am,” with some regret and Peter flushes, but then he’s being carried down the darkened hallway, gas lights flickering softly, and tucked into the man’s bed, right in the center. Steve walks to his dresser and slips out of his clothes, pulling on a nightshirt, turning down the gas lights as he passes the switch. The room fills with a soft, gentle glow. Steve slides into bed and gathers Peter up to him. “Sleep, Angel,” he says sternly. “I’m right here.”

It shouldn’t be comforting, a killer’s arms wrapped around him, but it is, it _is,_ hearing Steve’s breath even out, hearing his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin. Peter’s never lived a life where he had his own room, his own _bed_ had been a luxury at the Home that sometimes disappeared if the matron took in the wrong ratio of boys to girls. It’s comforting, and he lets it comfort him, lets himself stop chewing on the way he’s changed, the way the new world works, and all the things -good and bad- that are bound to happen to him now. He listens to Steve’s heartbeat, and he sighs, and he sleeps.


	2. Chapter 2

~~~

“Shh,” whispers someone, patting Peter over the blankets, a warm arm sliding around his waist, pulling him back, away from the cold. “Shhh, Angel, back to sleep.”

There’s a chuckle from the other side, low and soft, and then nothing but warmth and breathing again.

~~~

The door flies open, slamming against the wall. “You got him?!” calls Harley, his voice a little slurred. “He’s not in his bed, you got him?”

“Got him,” agrees Bucky, “Go sleep it off, Harley, ‘s not time f’church yet.”

“Fuck if I c’n sleep there, him not there,” says Harley, slamming the door shut, stumbling through the room to the bed. “Move. Shift.”

Bucky and Steve groan and don’t shift at all. Peter looks up at the shadow that is Harley, heart racing. “I’ll climb,” warns Harley. Bucky and Steve don’t even twitch. Harley half-falls over Bucky, scrambling at the covers. Bucky yelps and slaps at him. Peter winces at the sheer force of the blows, but then Harley’s over Bucky and stretching next to Peter, kicking at the covers and twitching them until they’re up over his shoulders and his cold feet are tangling with Peter’s warm ones. He kisses Peter’s lips and says, “Fell asleep when I got home, woke up, you weren’t there.” His tone is accusatory.

“Ss-sorry,” stutters Peter, wide-eyed.

“Should be,” agrees Harley, eyes sliding shut. He wiggles a moment, then pulls Bucky’s arm around his torso. “Get you a bigger bed,” he orders them, or maybe promises them, it’s hard to say.

“Shut up, Cat,” say the other men in unison.

Peter stares at Harley’s face as it slackens with sleep almost immediately. He feels Steve shift behind him to draw him close again, tuck Peter under his chin. “G’back t’sleep,” Steve tells him, his low voice a rumble through Peter’s whole body, arm a solid barrier between Harley and Peter. “Not time f’church yet.”

Peter gulps, his face inches from Harley’s, and nods, and closes his eyes. He’s praying for sleep to hit him over the head. There’s something in Harley’s breathing, heavy and wet, that is already familiar, though, already soothing, and he finds his own breathing matching up slowly, evening out.

~~~

When he wakes again, it’s to Steve and Bucky’s joint chuckles. “Don’t even want to wake ‘em up,” whispers Steve. “So sweet.”

Peter’s eyes flutter open and then he flies back, because his _nose_ was _almost touching_ Harley’s nose. The back of his head bounces off Steve’s solid chest and he gulps. His hands are cupped inside Harley’s, held tight to the other man’s chest, and Harley tosses his head a little, fingers twitching, moaning at the sudden movement. Bucky chuckles and Peter’s eyes fly to his face, shocked.

“Church in an hour,” Bucky whispers roughly, the arm wrapped around Harley lifting out of the blankets to trace a line down Peter’s cheek. “Tasha just slipped in and out to give warning. Time to get up.”

“‘Course, some parts are already up,” chuckles Steve quietly, behind Peter. His hips shift and Peter can feel, can feel _him_ , rub against Peter’s backside. Peter looks at Bucky, shocked, as Bucky’s face slides into a wicked smile. 

“Whole list of things we can’t do to him,” says Bucky slowly, considering the issue. “But nothing on that list about him not being made to watch what we do to each other, O Captain my Captain.”

There’s a rumble in Steve’s chest that turns into a chuckle when it hits air, and he _rubs_ again, deliberate this time. “You up for it, Angel? Can you be good, while we take care of sinning before church?” Peter feels his breath stutter as he tries to think wildly of a way to say _no, thank you._

“Shut _up_ ,” moans Harley. Bucky twitches an eyebrow at Steve, sardonic, and leans forward, licking a lewd stripe up Harley’s exposed neck, eyes on Peter. Peter gasps as Bucky seals his lips around the the flesh right at the juncture of jaw and ear and neck, sucking a little. Harley’s eyes fly open wide, startled, looking into Peter’s for a shocked second before his lips curve upward. “Could do that,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep. “Could wake up for that.”

“Sure you can, Harleycat,” rumbles Steve, behind Peter, rubbing a bit more. “Better than coffee.”

“Angel’s gonna watch,” Bucky informs Harley, and then his hand slips down and Harley gasps, “Oh, oh, oh, Buck, _fuck_ , Bucky.”

“You give him a show,” orders Steve, flipping the covers down some, rubbing himself against Peter. He slides his arm over Peter, cupping Harley’s jaw and sliding his thumb in smoothly when Harley’s lips part eagerly for it. Harley nods, his expression earnest and tortured, and Peter can’t see much, not with Steve’s arm like that, but he can feel Bucky’s hand work, feel the bed shake with Harley’s thrusts, watch Harley’s eyes flutter shut, his lips and jaw moving. 

“Fuck, Cat, your fucking tongue,” breathes Steve in Peter’s ear.

Harley pushes the finger out with his tongue to say, “Clint wouldn’t let me anywhere near him last night, been avoiding me the past two weeks. Ever since ‘Tasha’s started teaching me tricks just for him.” He sucks Steve’s thumb back in with a satisfied noise that makes Steve thrust hard into Peter. Or maybe it’s the image of Natasha teaching Harley tricks for Clint that has Steve rubbing so hard, thinks Peter. Peter gasps a little, because Steve’s not stopping, the forceful thrusts are still happening. Harley’s eyes fly open to stare at Peter, smirking around the thumb.

“Nice to know you can learn things, with the right motivation,” drawls Bucky, still licking and sucking at Harley’s neck, hand still moving in the steady rhythm that is shivering the bed. “At this point we’ll be breaking ground on that movie theater next _spring_.”

Harley groans, and shifts, and says around the thumb, “B-buck, B-bucky, I’m, _please_.”

The motion beneath the blanket slows, gentles, and Bucky leans up on one elbow, says quietly in Harley’s ear, “Givin’ him a _show_ , Cat. I mean to make you _yowl_ for him.” Harley flushes then, and Peter can’t believe it, can’t believe _Harley’s_ the one flushing with shame. Harley makes a low, needy noise, and it’s shocking to Peter, how he sounds, the noises he lets loose then, as Bucky’s hands do- whatever they’re doing, just out of sight, just below Steve’s arm.

“Fuck, Steve, I know you want that mouth,” grunts Bucky, “but it can’t be much of a show for Angel. You want him watching or not?”

“Mm,” hums Steve, “but Bucky, Hellcat’s _mouth_ , Bucky. His _tongue._ ”

“I’ll let him make it up to you, after he’s done sinning for me,” Bucky says, and Harley whimpers, tossing his head.

“Deal,” says Steve, and his hand pulls off of Harley’s mouth and pushes the covers down, shoves them away. Harley’s panting, whimpering with every slow flick of Bucky’s wrist.

“Eyes down, Angel, take a look,” murmurs Bucky. Feeling heat sizzle along his skin, up his neck, his temples, Peter swallows, and _looks_.

Harley’s still wearing his undershirt from the night before, stained with sweat and booze, and his drawers have been roughly shoved down to his thighs by Bucky. His dick is disappearing inside Bucky’s fist, and then re-appearing, slow, steady. Peter knows his own dick is just hard because he’s hard every morning, but the twitching he’s doing, that’s because he’s thinking of how it felt rubbing himself, on Friday night, and applying that knowledge to how it might feel to have someone else do the rubbing. He watches until Harley starts to shake, starts mumbling, “Please, Buck, please, more, faster, please, Bucky, fuck, can’t, stop _teasing_.”

“No,” says Bucky simply. Harley starts to buck, then, buck into the hand, but the hand somehow anticipates that, and just slides with him, closer to Peter. Peter shifts back, and Steve makes a pained noise and pushes forward, breath twisting in Peter’s ear. “Fuck, Angel,” he says, “Don’t, fuck, don’t move like that.”

Harley laughs, and then it turns into a moan. Bucky laughs, too, and teases, “You want Harleycat’s mouth, you’re going to have to stop rubbing against Angel, Steve, I know that look in your eye.”

Steve shudders, shifting his arm out from under him to lift his head up, rest on his palm, tower over Peter and says, his voice strained, “Fuck if I care anymore. Fuck of a show, Bucky, make him yowl for Angel.” His hand clenches hard on Peter’s hips, drawing him back roughly against Steve’s- against _Steve-_ and Peter gasps. Steve moves Peter in a rough rhythm, imitating the slow sweeps of Bucky’s hand, and Bucky chuckles, licking a stripe up Harley’s neck and making him groan. 

“Yes, Captain my Captain, sir,” teases Bucky, eyes dark on Steve, above Peter’s head.

Harley gasps at that, “Fuck, B-buck, Bucky, d-don’t.”

“Mm, Captain my Captain, sir,” murmurs Bucky into Harley’s neck, nipping his way up and down it with each syllable. “Cat’s got a request for you.”

“Oh I know all about it,” laughs Steve through gritted teeth, the words coming in short bursts as he shifts Peter back and forth, pressing Peter’s backside tight, shifting against it, and then shifting him forward. “Gotta yowl, if’n you want my attention, Cat. Not listening to anything ‘til you’re yowling for me.”

“Yes, sir, Captain my Captain,” whispers Bucky. “Go on, you tell him, Cat. Tell him what I said.” 

His hand clenches on Harley’s dick, speeds up, and Harley gasps out, “Yes, sir, Captain, sir, my Captain,” his voice strained and high pitched. “Go on,” murmurs Bucky. “You want this, you go on ahead, you know what to do.”

“Please, Captain,” babbles Harley, face reddening, eyes squeezed tightly shut, tossing his head, voice getting higher pitched and louder with each repetition. “Please, God, please, Captain, sir, please, please, Captain my Captain, sir, fuck, _please_.”

Steve’s fingers are digging into Peter’s hips, and Peter’s dick is twitching, he’s fascinated, switching quickly between watching Harley’s _face_ and watching Bucky’s _hand_ , and he knows his mouth is open in shock.

“Please _what_ ,” growls Steve roughly, and his hips are moving, now, too, snapping to rub against Peter as he moves Peter roughly against him.

“Please,” whines Harley, loudly, higher than Peter’s ever heard any man talk, sounding absolutely desperate. “Please, lemme spill, lemme please.”

“Bite him, Buck,” orders Steve, and Peter gasps, shocked, as Bucky smiles and does so, quickly, and Harley does yowl, then, wordless, a high pitched needy noise that makes Peter shiver. “You spill, Cat,” says Steve, harshly, “after I spill. You _wait_.” Harley nods, as Bucky lets go, aims, and bites again, making Harley howl again. Steve shifts his fingers on Peter and thrusts quickly, fast little thrusts of his hips, muttering, “Fuck, Angel, can’t wait for Tony to _have_ _this_ already, take my turn, fuck.” Peter tosses his head, focus shifting from watching Harley to feeling Steve, and his body starts to shake. His eyes are trained on Bucky’s fist, but his attention is on Steve’s grip on his hips, the feel of Steve against him, the motion of Steve’s body against his back.

Like that’s what does it, him shaking, Steve gives a low groan and three last hard thrusts, and then Bucky gives Harley a bite, low on his neck where it’s almost shoulder, and Harley whines loudly as he spills. It’s the first time Peter’s ever seen it, his eyes glued to Bucky’s fist, watching the white liquid spurt out, coat Bucky’s fingers, watch as Harley thrusts into it, through it, more white squirting. The sound of gasping fills the room. 

Bucky’s fingers release and lift, and Peter shrinks back against Steve as they head towards him, towards Peter, the white liquid coating them, almost dripping from them. “No, Angel,” chides Bucky, “you gotta learn to like it sometime, no time like now. Open up.” 

Steve gasps, behind Peter, and then shakes Peter’s hip as he growls, “Open up, Angel, have a taste.”

“N-no,” begs Peter, shaking his head, gagging a little just at the thought of it, head whirling.

“Yes,” say Bucky and Steve, both voices stern. 

“Ain’t raising you up a spitter,” teases Bucky darkly. “You’ll swallow, first time, for Mr. Stark, he gets you on your knees.”

“Open,” orders Steve, but Peter can’t, he _can’t_ , his gorge rising up, trapped on the words, the _image_ of Mr. Stark getting Peter _on_ _his_ _knees_.

“Going about it wrong,” interrupts Harley, surging forward, knocking Bucky’s hand aside with one hand. He raises a hand to cup Peter’s face, moves forward, and whispers, “Open up, Angel. Let me in,” and then he’s kissing Peter, familiar and fast, tongue doing all kind of things to Peter’s spine via Peter’s tongue. 

He breaks the kiss and says, “Here, gimme some, let me lick,” and Bucky slides his fingers into Harley’s open mouth. Harley smiles, licking the white stuff off, and then moves in for another kiss. 

It makes the kiss salty, and wetter, thicker, and Peter’s eyes fill with tears immediately, thinking of what he’s tasting, what’s in his mouth, what Harley is _licking inside him_. This isn’t right, it’s not, he shouldn’t- Peter’s chest is heaving, he keeps _gagging_ , but Harley keeps kissing him. It lasts forever, before Harley’s breaking to gasp, “More, gimme, Steve, give me some of yours, too, want him to taste it, taste how it’s _different_.”

“Fuck, Cat,” murmurs Steve, sounding shocked. Bucky gives a wordless sound of stunned agreement. Bucky lifts his hand up to Harley and Harley licks across the palm, and then goes back to kissing Peter, who whimpers, gagging again as the fresh taste slides into his mouth. Steve is shifting behind Peter, one hand dipping down between them, lifting his nightshirt. When he raises his hand beside their faces, Harley pauses the kiss to swipe a lick across Steve’s palm and fingers, before kissing Peter again. 

Peter can’t tell if it’s different or the same, but he keeps gagging into the kiss, gagging and feeling lightning up his spine, and he honestly doesn’t know how he’s going to live through this moment. 

“You surviving?” teases Harley in a gasp against Peter’s lips. “Or is it burning you, tasting us on your tongue, me and Steve?” He dives back into the kiss as Bucky moans, and Steve whispers, “Fuck, Hellcat,” holding up his hand again. 

This time, when Harley breaks the kiss, he grabs Peter’s chin and says roughly, “You do this _right_ , it’s already in you, now, no point kicking up a fuss.” Peter tries to shake his head, tries to close his eyes, but Harley shakes him roughly and growls, “ _Yes_ , Angel, you do what I’m telling you, now, ain’t gonna hurt you, you take what Steve slips in, _taste_ it. Be _good_. Open,” he commands, tugging on Peter’s jaw, and Peter whimpers, but parts his lips. 

“Go on, Steve, he’ll be good now,” Harley says confidently. Steve slides his fingers in Peter’s mouth and Peter gags, he can taste it, he _can_ , tears springing to his eyes. “Wipe ‘em around,” orders Harley, eyes locked on Peter’s, making sure Peter doesn’t slip his eyes shut, one hand still right on Peter’s chin. The fingers in Peter’s mouth trace around his teeth, his cheeks, his tongue, the roof of his mouth, spreading that salty, metallic flavor everywhere. Peter gags, again, twice, _hard_ , and Harley chuckles, batting at Steve’s hand and whispering, “Good Angel, open up for me now,” before surging forward to kiss Peter.

Bucky says, “Fuck, _fuck_ , Hellcat, that was _fuck.”_

Harley chuckles into the kiss. “Told you I’d train him up good.”

“Well, fuck, didn’t know you had it in you,” Steve tells him, sounding stunned. Harley laughs so hard he has to stop kissing Peter, resting his forehead against Peter’s as Peter gasps.

“Got a plan for lesson two,” chuckles Harley, spinning around. “Here, Bucky, sit up, some. How fast do you think you can fill up my mouth?”

“Pretty damn fast,” gasps Bucky, scrambling up the headboard to a sitting position. Harley laughs and says, “Prove it,” ripping down Bucky’s pajama pants and swallowing the thick dick there before Peter can even gasp at how _thick_ it is. Peter watches, breathing messed up, as Harley kneels up, legs sliding between Bucky’s, hunched over him, bobbing obscenely up and down. Bucky’s head hits the headboard with a loud thunk and a groan, and Harley chuckles as he slides down Bucky’s thick cock. It’s wet and glistening when he pulls off a bit- everywhere his mouth was now glistens. Peter’s fascinated by it, the wetness Harley’s mouth leaves behind, and he doesn’t know why, but he watches, and he notices it, and it makes him feel a pull deep inside.

Bucky’s hands come up to tangle in Harley’s curls and he grunts, and Peter gasps as he pushes Harley down, he’s shoving Harley down, and Harley makes wet swallowing noises and _hums_.

“Fuck,” swears Bucky, head rolling against the headboard.

“Angel’s watching,” says Steve, a burr in his voice. Bucky’s eyes fly open, head tilting, and Peter flinches when he lifts one hand out of Harley’s hair and stretches it toward Peter. Bucky bucks up, then, and Harley makes a wet groaning noise. 

“Fuck, Angel, suck, you,” gasps Bucky, cupping Peter’s jaw, pressing his thumb to Peter’s lips. Peter knows what he wants, what his dark eyes want to see, but he hesitates a long slow second before dropping his jaw and parting his lips. Bucky’s thumb plunges inside, and Peter thinks of Harley, sucking down that thick cock, all the way, swallowing it, and he gives a tentative suck to Bucky’s thumb.

“Ngh,” grunts Bucky, slamming his head back again, “Fuck, Steve, fuck, he’s, he’s sucking, fuck, Cat, gonna, gonna-“. And then he moans, bucking up into Harley’s mouth.

Harley slips off Bucky’s cock until it’s just his lips lapping at the tip. He holds still for just a second, poised, and then, when Bucky’s head lolls to one side, he surges off, and pulls Peter to lie flat on the bed roughly, shoving one knee between Peter’s legs. His lips are pursed as he grabs Peter’s neck with one hand and pulls Peter up to him. Bucky’s thumb slips out of Peter’s mouth at some point, leaving his lips parted just enough for Harley to push in with his tongue.

It’s not a _taste_ , this time, it’s a _mouthful_ , and Peter gags hard. Steve’s hand soothes his stomach in little distracting circles, the man murmuring encouragements Peter can’t focus on. Harley’s tongue is twisting around Peter’s, playful and powerful, pressing the thick fluid everywhere in Peter’s mouth, chasing along after it, touching along his teeth, his lips. Harley pulls back, finally, swallowing with obvious exaggeration, and commands Peter, “Swallow.”

It’s one word, simple, and Peter does it automatically, without thought. He gags, and Harley kisses him again, gentler, more playful. “Good Angel,” he murmurs into the kiss, “Good Angel. Knew you would. Gonna teach you so much. Knew you would. Knew you _could_.”

“Fuck,” says Bucky, in an awed voice. “Captain, you fucking seeing this?”

“I’m watching,” admits Steve, sounding likewise stunned.

“I bet you are,” chuckles Harley. Peter decides he’s with everyone else on his opinion of Harley’s tongue- the minute the man breaks the kiss to comment, Peter is gasping air like a drowning man, but he’s not stopping Harley from returning. “I just bet you are.”

“Fuck, we’re not even running _late_ ,” says Bucky, in that same stunned voice

“Mm-mm,” hums Harley into the kiss. “Told you, told you, you were just doing it wrong.” Peter gasps up at him as he releases his hold on Peter’s neck and sits back on his heels, smug. “Needs to be tricked a little, can’t just be ordered around. Never been an army grunt,” Harley tells Peter, like he’s asking for confirmation, but there’s so much teasing in his tone.

Peter shakes his head. Steve suddenly shifts, and dips his head, kissing Peter soft and sweetly. “Angel, that was so good for us,” he praises. “Angel, baby, that was _so good._ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” laughs Harley. “I did all the hard work, he gets all the praise, I see how it’s gonna be.”

Bucky growls and sits up, pulling Harley to him for a dangerous looking kiss, all flashing teeth and clashing mouths. “You shut up,” he tells Harley after a moment where Peter clings to Steve, gasping as he watches the other two men, “or I’ll show you how grateful I am for your filthy fucking ideas.”

Harley smiles back at him like a lovesick maiden in a nickelodeon short, panting.

“Okay, gotta move,” groans Steve. “Don’t you have a pecker you gotta shave, Bucky?”

“Oh yeah,” says Bucky brightly, pushing and pulling on Harley until the man falls off the bed and lands with a muffled _oof!_ “C’mere, let’s go do that, Angel.”

Peter shakes his head and shivers, because he’s still _hard_ , he still has his morning _stiffness_ , he doesn’t want Bucky to touch him. Steve laughs, low in his ear. “Bet you could go ask Mr. Stark to take care of that, you want to. Nothing we can do until he does it first, Angel. Or I can go fetch him, you don’t want to go be good for Bucky?”

Peter groans at that, shaking his head wildly, fingers grabbing for Bucky’s outstretched hand. He lets Bucky pull him off the bed and into their bathroom. He may not want this, but he definitely doesn’t want to come to Mr. Stark’s attention _just before church._ Bucky lifts him right off the bed, over Harley, who’s lying giggling on the floor.

As the bathroom door shuts behind them, Harley shouts, “Don’t you brush that out, Bucky, you let it sit on his tongue all through church, I’m _training_ him,” and that’s the last thing Peter notices from the other room, as his whole world narrows down to Bucky and the straight razor, and how he feels about getting a close shave every day.

“I’ll get your face, too, Angel,” says Bucky, already foaming the cup with his brush. “And mine. Throw down a towel.” He nods at the cabinet next to the door. Peter’s hands are shaking as he lays the towel on the floor and Bucky turns to consider him with dark eyes.

“Mr. Stark ever watch you pull yourself?” Bucky asks, voice a little rough.

Peter shakes his head, _no._ Emphatically _no._

“Can’t take that from him,” muses Bucky, turning back to the sink, digging for a razor.

Peter bites his lip, because maybe Bucky should know- “I pulled - _rubbed_ \- myself the other night, and Mr. Stark knows about that.”

“Oh?” inquires Bucky, soaping up his own face first. Peter blows out a breath in relief. “Well, then. I won’t watch, but you go on ahead. Can’t take that to church, Angel,” he chuckles, “Don’t care if you are Harley Stark’s baby brother, even Hellcat never took that to church.”

Peter sits on the towel, watching to make sure the other man _doesn’t_ look, feeling awkward and _hot_. He slides a hand down, to wrap around like he watched Bucky’s do, and is shocked by how _good_ it feels, the pressure on all sides like that. He tries a few tugs, his gasps loud in the bathroom, thinking furiously, _get rid of it, get it gone_ , because Bucky’s going to shave him next and Mr. Stark won’t like it if he spills on account of Bucky shaving him, he knows that without having to be told.

He can feel the pressure building again, and he thinks of images, the feel of Steve behind him, pressing against him, Harley’s red face, gasping. He closes his eyes, and concentrates on the building of the pressure, on the images he can think of that help it swell up and up. He looks down at his hand, watching his thin dick disappear, and then gasps, because there’s a little white fluid leaking. It feels amazing, that leak, that wetness on his hand rubbing down his cock, and he can feel the pressure inside boil up and up, until his spine is twisting and bending and he twitches, one last time, a helpless little thrust up into his hand. He whines a bit, as the wave crashes over him, as he spills into his hand, and watches Bucky shift at the sink.

“Good Angel, that was fast, good work,” praises Bucky, holding up a wet scrubcloth. Peter grimaces. “Proud of you, taking care of it like that, so we could get this done and go to church.”

Bucky turns, cloth in hand, and then pauses, a wicked light in his face. “Lick, Angel. Lick them fingers for me, first,” he orders.

Peter shakes his head, swallowing a gag at the idea, because he _won’t._ He sets his chin as the other man approaches, glaring at the green tile of the floor. Bucky grabs him by that same stubborn chin and hauls him up by it, grip painfully tight. He growls, glaring into Peter’s eyes with a wild light in his own, “Harley knows nice ways to make you behave- sweet, pretty ways, ways that are fun for me to watch, but don’t you go thinking I don’t have ways, too, Peter Stark. I. Said. _Lick_.”

Peter gasps, terrified, and raises his hand to his face, licking, smearing it against his lips in his haste to show Bucky he can listen, he _can_ , he can be so _good_.

“That’s better,” concedes Bucky. “Lay down.”

Peter tries to nod, and when Bucky releases his chin, he falls back, gasping.

“Lay still. Be quiet. Be smart,” directs Bucky. Peter nods. “Good Angel,” croons Bucky. Peter nods again, chest heaving, telling himself fiercely not to cry any crocodile tears.

Bucky works quickly, efficiently, soaping him up and scraping him down, the razor loud in the silent bathroom. He doesn’t tug at all, which makes Peter gasp in relief, and when he wipes Peter down, face and crotch, it feels almost clinical. “You’re a good Angel,” Bucky says softly, folding up the razor to put it away. “Just listen to me, and we’ll do all right together.”

Peter nods and then, before he can think, he gasps, “‘M sorry, Bucky. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be so mad at me.”

“Aww, now that’s nice,” says Bucky slowly, sinking into a crouch, his dark eyes drilling into Peter’s. “That’s just right, you saying sorry after making me talk harsh to you. I don’t ever want to, Angel. Just you listen the first time, so I don’t have to.”

Peter nods frantically. He will, he _will_. He can be so _good_.

Bucky unbends enough to chuckle at him, then, and the tight mood of tension dissipates like it was never there. “Go wash your hands,” Bucky tells him. “Hit the can, I’ll go see about your suit and some coffee.” Peter nods, emphatically, and Bucky kisses the top of his head. “Good Angel, making it up to me. I see it, I see you being good now. Just you keep it up.”

Peter nods, relieved, so relieved that they’re okay, Bucky’s forgiving him, they’re okay, now. He stands, and heads for the can as the other man slips from the room, leaving the door open behind him.

“Helluva wake up,” calls Harley, laughter in his voice. “Steve made coffee, Angel, get hopping, other people want to use the john, too.”

“You can go to _your room_ ,” Steve says loudly. “Go, get dressed. Church in fifteen.”

“Don’t you brush,” shouts Harley, voice jovial. “You hear me? I’m training you!”

“Out,” says Steve firmly. There’s the sound of drawers opening and closing and Peter exits the can after washing his hands, scrubbing extra hard, extra soap.

“Hey, Angel,” says Steve absently. “Coffee on the table for you.” He looks- Peter swallows- he looks all turned out, flash gray formal suit, shiny black and gray two-tone boots, tie tight to his throat. If Peter looks closely, he can see the slight bulges where the guns rest, and it makes him swallow hard as he crosses to pick up the mug left out for him.

“You look rumpled and hard done-by,” laughs Steve, eyes twinkling. “Bucky get a little wolfish? Heard some snapping.”

Peter nods, sipping his coffee. 

“Well, bound to happen sometimes,” says Steve cryptically. “Devilsided, you know.”

Peter shrugs. 

“You have any problem handling him?” presses Steve. “Didn’t hear like you did.”

Peter shakes his head. “No, I apologized,” he croaks, because the other man is _trying_ , he can try, too. He feels a blush creep up his neck.

“Shoot, bet that’s the first time anybody ever tried _that_ ,” laughs Steve, sitting across from him. “It work? He settle for you, then?”

Peter nods, and glances up at Steve, mouth on the rim of the mug. Steve grins at him, and he finds his lips stretching to grin back. “Yeah,” he says, like apologizing was a trick he played on Bucky. “He did settle.”

“Angel, you’re a wonder,” laughs Steve.

Peter holds very still for a moment, as his mind races. Because it was like a trick, wasn’t it, only the trick was, it was _angelic_ , there was no _trick_ to it. Bucky got mad, and Peter turned it aside by apologizing, honestly just saying sorry, from his heart, just being himself, being _good,_ trying to be good, and it _worked_. It’s worked the whole time, Peter just trying to be _good_ , it’s made them want to give him stuff and take him places, be nice to him the only way they know how. And maybe that’s what Steve and Pepper were saying the night before, about how Peter helps just being here, being _himself_ , trying to be _good._ Peter takes a deep breath, thinks to himself fiercely, _be smart,_ and raises his eyes to Steve’s. “Just trying to be good,” he tells the man, and watches Steve’s face relax into a smile as he replies, “Don’t gotta try so hard, Angel, you just _are_ good.”

By the time Bucky’s back, with the news that Mr. Stark is waiting in Pepper’s suite with Peter’s new suit, Steve has Peter laughing over a story about Karen and Mrs. Friday fighting with Harley about a fish tank. Bucky smiles at both of them, his usual fast flicker of humor. “Hustle, gang,” he teases. “Hop to it, Mr. Stark’s getting itchy feet.”

Peter smiles at him, feeling tentative and confident at the same time, and Bucky smiles back, pleased and surprised. “Bet the suit matches Harley’s,” he teases Peter.

“No bet,” says Peter, standing. “I _guarantee_ it does.”

“Oh you do, do you, little wise guy?” teases Steve, walking with them down the hallway. “You _guarantee_ it?”

“We’re a matched set,” Peter informs him. “I’m the good one.”

“You sure are, baby,” says Bucky, holding open the door to Pepper’s suite. “You get enough coffee?” he asks, as Peter walks by.

“Could use a cookie,” Peter tells him, slanting him a glance.

Bucky chokes a second and then says, “What was I thinking? Yeah, yeah, I’ll go get you one, can’t believe I forgot.”

“C’mon,” interrupts Mr. Stark impatiently, snapping his fingers once. “You’re late. Let’s go, Peter. Strip, everybody out, down to the cars, we’ll be right behind you. Yes, you, Harley, get _gone_ , don’t need you. Pep, you stay and help, his _hair,_ Good Go-sh almighty.”

“Excellent catch, Mr. Stark,” says Pepper cooly. She waves Peter over beside them as everyone files out of the room. “C’mere, Peter, take off that shirt. We’re not late yet, but timing is tight. _Somebody_ wanted extra innings last night.” Peter’s already into fresh drawers and new trousers before it hits him what that might mean. Pepper helps him slide into a new undershirt and Mr. Stark is right there with the crisp white shirt next. Pepper and Peter race to button it, him starting from the bottom, her from the top.

“Pep, I’m not listening to a word you say. You ain’t the authority on what she’s like when she gets that way,” complains Mr. Stark, fixing Peter’s cuffs while his hands fly at the buttons, and attaching the cufflinks while Pepper combs through Peter’s hair, parting it, adding the pomade she’d threatened him with at dinner the night before. “I did my best.”

“And she says it was _you_ who was in a mood,” laughs Pepper. “I know who I believe.”

There’s a pause, while Mr. Stark’s nimble fingers make quick work of Peter’s tie, a deep blue with thin gold stripes, and then Mr. Stark says plaintively, “...me, right? I’m your husband, wife, it better be me.”

“Mm,” hums Pepper, her eyes crinkling at Peter. “But Natasha runs the other half of my Empire,” she teases. “Hard place to be, hard decision to make.”

“I’ll give you hard, Mrs. Stark,” chuckles Mr. Stark, patting her on her backside, holding out the coat for Peter as Pepper slips on the shiny black wingtip loafers.

“You always do,” murmurs Pepper, smiling smugly. Mr. Stark chokes, which Peter counts as a definite point for Pepper, and says, “Okay, skeedaddle, let’s leg it to the cars.”

“Looking good, Peter,” says Pepper, tapping his nose. “You wear it better than Harley can.”

Peter smiles back at her, and then laughs when the door opens and a hand with three cookies in it proceeds Bucky, who glares at them all equally and says, “C’mon, c’mon, ain’t you ready yet? Cars are burning gas!”

“We’re ready,” laughs Peter, taking the cookies as Bucky drops them into his hand. 

“Looking dandy, Angel,” Bucky tells him, already turning to lead the way down the hallway.

Peter smiles, and squares his shoulders to go find out if the Stark Empire burns down Holy Trinity this week, by walking in. If he could bet, he’d bet not. They’ve never burned it down before, and now they’ve got one more angel with ‘em, to help make sure the balance goes in their favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... We all agree Bucky watched in the mirror, right? We're all in agreement on that? 
> 
> IS EVERYBODY WITH ME ON THAT ONE?

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a link to the song in the title, if you want it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Mie7bnh2hA
> 
> You can absolutely meet me in the comments section with ideas for future scenes and chapters in this AU. It's definitely very work-in-progress.


End file.
